


They Are Going Through the Unimaginable

by BrownieFox



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward bonding, Fluff, Gen, Post Game, Post canon, carl ded yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 12:09:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15218861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrownieFox/pseuds/BrownieFox
Summary: Leo and Markus plan the funeral of their shared dad





	They Are Going Through the Unimaginable

Markus stood before the door, just barely out of range of the sensor.

North, Simon, and Josh had all offered to join him, to help support him in this, but Markus had turned down their offers just as he had the other two times he had come here the past two days. It was no use putting it off, it had to be done, and it would have to done for days to come. There was a lot to deal with.

_ “Alarm Deactivated. Welcome Home, Markus.” _

The door opened, and Markus stepped through. The canaries were already on, their cheerful chirps greeting him. They sounded oddly out of place, the mansion seeming too empty and too full at the same time. There was a pair of shoes next to the door, and Markus toed his own off as well. It was like a sign of this being his home. It was also like some kind of weird act of solidarity, literally meeting the other on common ground.

Markus eyed the stairs, knowing full well the other wouldn’t be up there. Both of them had been having trouble daring the upper story without being overcome by emotions. They would eventually reach the point where the next steps would require them to ascend the stairs, but for now it could be procrastinated.

In the main room of the house, there were notes and paintings scatter around, stacked up in hasty piles. A lunch was set on the dining table, and Markus made his way over to it. It looked like somebody had started to eat it and then had left in a rush, perhaps distracted and assuming they’d get back to it. Markus picked it and then made his way to the other side of the room, past the giraffe and into the studio.

Carl’s machine to help him reach the higher parts of his paintings had been taken out, more space for paintings and coffin designs and charts of flower decorations. Probably for the best, as there was negative memory attached to it that wouldn't help with this situation. Swamped in the middle of the chaotic mess was Leo, looking over two different color palettes. The man looked exhausted, hair a mess and stubble on his face, bags under his eyes, but when Markus had seen him two days ago, at least at that it had been obvious that he was getting better. Getting clean from Red Ice was a hard process, but somewhere in himself Leo had found the strength. Markus couldn’t help but to think that the hit to his head had been exactly what Leo had needed.

“Good afternoon, Leo.” Markus greeted as he set the plate down near his dad’s son. The term ‘brother’ didn’t quite fit, and Markus wasn’t sure it ever would. But here the two of them were, doing what they could.  _ ‘... Carl Manfred lives on through the hearts of his two sons, Leo and Markus Manfred…’  _ the obituary article had said, and a part of Markus wanted to live up to that. It was good publicity, a human and an android mourning together, working together, but Markus wasn’t doing this for other people. He was doing it for himself, perhaps the first truly selfish thing he had done since climbing out of the android graveyard.

“Hi Markus.” Leo grunted.

“You should eat.” Markus recommended, sitting down near Leo. Not next to, that’d be too close, too awkward. They’d never get any work done, especially with a schedule to keep. One can’t have a corpse waiting for a funeral for too long. Markus had helped plan the giant funeral for those who had fallen in the Battle for Detroit, but this was different, personal.

Leo grabbed the fork, playing around with the shredded chicken and peas on the plate, but didn’t seem interested in actually do anything about them. After a moment he set the fork back down and picked up his coffee, taking a long sip. Markus estimated it had been 31 hours since the man had last slept, but Markus couldn’t blame him for that. There was a lot he could blame on the man, but that wasn’t one of the things.

“You choose one.” Leo finally said, shoving the two color palettes to Markus and digging up the list of Carl’s most famous art pieces. Many of his best ones were in museums or purchased, but it wouldn’t be too much of a problem to acquire them for this single event. To show what Carl had once been able to do. To impress those who came. To put on a show.

“I like the dark blue and gold palette.” Markus said after a moment of deliberation. Specifically the #0D1F2D, #2F586E, #E8CA82, #D2973B, and #211F22 but he doubted that would mean much to Leo.

“Alright. One thing done.” Leo sighed, running his hands down his face.

“Do you need rest?” Markus asked. A part of him hoped, prayed, that Leo would say yes and then he could spend the next few hours working by himself and without the stifling awkward atmosphere.

“No. I need to do this for him.” Leo grumbled instead, looking down the list. “I need to choose a picture to go right behind the coffin. Better to stare at the art and pretend you’re staring at the body.”

Markus didn’t comment on that, instead looking at the narrowed-down list of coffins. So many colleagues of Carl had offered their services in designing something worthy to hold the artist. Markus wasn't stupid, he knew that most of them were hoping to benefit from the man’s death. They wanted exposure and to look good, as if to say to the world ‘I was a friend of this recluse man, now that he’s dead you should look at me!’. If he didn’t think it’d end up being more of an issue that it was worth, Markus would almost commission the residents of New Jericho to help him just craft one themselves.

Markus looked up from the list as he crossed out two more. Leo was staring at his own list almost angrily. He wondered what they would be like if Leo hadn’t been so closed off to Carl or had never gotten addicted to Red Ice. If Carl had made more of an effort to be a part of the man’s life when the man was still a boy. Would it help Leo to know that Carl hadn’t gotten Markus as a son originally, that the son part had just happened without either of them really realizing it until it was too late? Would Leo find comfort in knowing that everyday Carl hoped to hear from Leo, hoped to hear that his son was doing better?

But for all the delegating words Markus had spoken over the past two years, he still had yet to find the right ones to convey all of that to Leo. So he stayed silent and continued to deliberate over coffins. Maybe tomorrow he’d find the right phrases to express a father who had wanted so desperately to love and be proud of his son, overflowing so much that it had managed to pool into Markus.

Leo stood suddenly, and Markus watched as the man went over to a set of paintings leaning against each other. He rummaged through them, eventually picking one out and looking at it deliberatingly. It was rather small compared to many of Carl’s works, and Markus knew for a fact that the list Leo had been looking over had only contained the big ones, the ones to show off to the crowd. Leo looked over to Markus, and the emotion in his eyes was hard for Markus to pin down.

“... Dad would’ve wanted people to see this one. It’s going behind his coffin.” Leo stated, leaving no room to argue, and spun the picture around for Markus to see. Markus gasped lightly (a human reaction he had carefully cultivated to be natural, it made human more comfortable seeing outward reactions) as he saw what it was. It felt like an entire lifetime ago that he had painted that picture - his first real painting - of two hands reaching for each other. One robotic, another flesh. Painted before he was a leader, before he had decided to take the troubles of his kind on his shoulders. Now it seemed almost like a prophecy of sorts of what he would go on to do.

“It… It’s not Carl’s.” Markus said.

“I know.” Leo replied. “But dad wouldn’t have wanted this whole thing to be as big of an event as it’s going to be. Might as well slip something in that’d make him smile one more time.”

Markus wished there was something he could do to return such a favor. But Leo didn’t paint, didn’t draw. Carl didn’t have any childhood drawings in crayon from Leo, since he hadn’t been a part of Leo’s life when he was that young.

“Thank you.” It felt wrong, thanking him for this. It wasn’t like Markus had asked for it, after all, but he didn’t know what else to say.

Maybe he’d see what work they could take away from the small mansion and invite Leo over to New Jericho. A new environment would probably help with the man’s health (Markus knew it would, he was  _ made _  to help people with their health) and maybe it would help a bit for what was between them. Building this bridge wasn’t easy, and Markus doubted it would ever be made of anything stronger than old wooden boards and ropes that made it shake and creak with every step forward, but if they were both putting in an effort surely it would get finished eventually.

“If you’re really thankful, I need more coffee.” Leo grumbled.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Markus raised an eyebrow.

“No.” Leo bit back, looking seconds away from passing out. Markus didn’t fight with him, grabbing the man’s empty mug and going back into the kitchen. It was fine though. He’d just have to take approximately 14 minutes, a mysteriously amount of time for getting coffee, and by that time Leo would be passed out on the ground and getting the rest he needed.


End file.
